


a midnight bounty

by lostnfound14



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: BAMF Carlos Oliveira, BAMF Jill Valentine, Cowboy Carlos Oliveira, F/M, Fear, Monster Hunters, Mythology - Freeform, Romance, Sheriff Jill Valentine, Wild West AU, mild horror elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostnfound14/pseuds/lostnfound14
Summary: Something's picking off people's livestock in Raccoon County. It comes in the night. It leaves no trace aside from the animal carcasses, completely drained of blood. It is brutal. It is relentless. It's scaring the kids. Hell, it's scaring some of the adults, too.Sheriff Jill Valentine sees it as her responsibility, and hers alone, to get to the bottom of this mystery...But help arrives anyway.-A Wild West AU
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine
Comments: 23
Kudos: 25





	1. the carcass

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's... back?
> 
> I was never really gone. But I have been lurking like crazy on this ship tag for months. Over those few months, I knew how badly I wanted to write another story for Carlos and Jill, but _holy fucking shit_ it was impossible to stick with an idea. Many words were written. Many words were deleted. Many more words were re-written. Many more words were re-deleted. I struggled a great deal with a story idea for these two, no matter how badly I wanted to write. Darlings were killed, but not without great remorse.
> 
> But, after having an idea that I had thought sounded good, and writing part of an outline for it, I realized that I had run out of avenues to take with it, and I began writing _this_ story. It flowed much more smoothly than the other one, and for once I actually feel pretty confident in an idea. It's refreshing, and it's so far from what I originally thought I would write for Carlos and Jill, but I really, really like it.
> 
> I hope you guys do, too.
> 
> (I’m going to keep track of the word count of each chapter, because I like comparing their lengths. I don’t know why, but it works for me. This chapter’s word count is: 2875.)

The West was an unforgiving beast. Too hot in the morning. Too cold at night. Too dry for anything substantial to grow in the rare patch of soil in the endless desert.

That was why it took a beast just as plucky to make a living out there. Someone who was willing to take a gander at all of that adversity and say, “Y’ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

Jill Valentine prided herself on her resolve. It kept her on her feet in times of difficulty, like when Mr. Rosso’s cattle got loose and she had to help herd them back up before a dust storm overtook them, breathing a sigh of relief when she got the last cow in and locked the door of Mr. Rosso’s ranch house behind her. 

When you were the Raccoon County Sheriff, crazy stuff like that was bound to fall under your jurisdiction; that was something Jill learned in the early days of her job.

It took a long time, longer than she would have liked, to gain the trust of the locals. More than a few times some of the men in the saloon had looked upon her with a sneer and made some rather unsavory remarks. “You’re just a whore with a fancy hat,” they’d say. Jill knew better than to take it to heart.

However, after more than a few run-ins with fellows who thought they were too slick to get caught makin’ away with all of the money in the bank, Jill had proven herself, showcasing her impressive marksmanship and refusal to give up.

So, now, the people came to her for concerns both big and small, no matter if they fell under her responsibilities as sheriff or not, and she always helped them with a warm smile and no-nonsense attitude. If you asked for Jill’s help on anything, you could blink and she’d have already fixed your problem. She was smart, fast and sure of herself, a force to be reckoned with.

It was a regular ol’ Tuesday morning when Kendo came to her office, the batwing doors creaking as he swung them open and entered with a heavy step. He was dressed in his usual getup; a black vest over a yellow shirt, blue jeans, brown boots, concerned look in his eye, and a black hat to top it all off.

“Hey, Sheriff,” he called as he removed his hat, revealing a bald head. His voice had gone softer recently. He’d lost his wife a few months prior, to the consumption; a terrible thing, really. Roslyn had been a bright woman, always with a smile and a rambunctious laugh to offer at someone’s jokes. She and Jill had gotten along well; in fact, that was how she had gotten to know Kendo. He liked staying on his farm with their (at the time) newborn daughter, taking care of the farm animals and his beloved horse. It had taken some significant prodding from Roslyn to get him to come inside one afternoon and introduce himself to Jill. (“I’m Robert,” he’d said, with a small wave, “but you can call me Kendo, Sheriff.”) He was a quiet, humble man, with a heart full of nothing but love.

Jill lifted her boots from the top of her desk and settled them on the wooden floor. She smiled and said, “Hello, my friend. What brings you here on this fine day?”

“Somethin’s up on the farm,” Kendo replied, approaching her desk. “I need you to come, quick.” Noting his worried tone of voice, Jill stood quickly, rocketing up from her chair. Now that Kendo had come closer, she could see the lines between his eyes, how they creased further with the downturn of his brow. Whatever it was, it was not to be taken lightly.

“I’m right behind you, Kendo,” she said, lunging for the holster and hat that hung on the rack behind her.

After a ride of a few short minutes, they arrived at Kendo’s farm. Jill surveyed the land as they rode up to the main house; nothing _seemed_ out of place. The building was intact, the cows and sheep were in their discrete pastures, grazing happily, and the sun was beating down, like every other day in Raccoon.

Jill dismounted as Kendo did, tying her horse’s (Lightning, she had taken to calling him) lead to a post next to the one where he did the same. She placed her hands on her hips when she was finished, looking at Kendo. He wouldn’t meet her eye, instead idly stroking his horse’s mane.

“Kendo,” she half-barked. He jumped, eyes blowing wide in surprise. “You’re drivin’ me crazy with all this silence. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Kendo’s hand fell from its position on the white horse’s neck, and his jaw set. “Follow me,” he said.

Jill rolled her eyes when Kendo turned around. She hated being kept in the dark. Many a problem had been solved with a quick talking-to or a set of instructions, knowledge she had picked up in her short tenure as the sheriff, but now the man was making it hard to put a finger on what exactly was the matter.

She followed him around the far wall of the house, toward the pasture. There was complete silence in the land around them as they strode across the dry, crunchy grass, feeling the unrelenting shine of the sun soaking into their skin. It was an eerie silence, one that Jill felt the need to fill with a wisecrack or a question, but when she finally matched pace with Kendo and started walking alongside him, she could see in the corner of her eye that there was an uncharacteristic severity in his features. Now was not the time for levity.

Finally, Kendo spoke again, as they started to close in upon the fence of the sheep’s pasture. “After I woke up this mornin’, I was walkin’ out to tend to the sheep.”

“Uh huh,” Jill prompted as they started to skirt the outside of the fence, headed for the corner where the shed stood; a short but long wooden structure that looked rickety from the outside but was undoubtedly sturdy, standing firm as a blessedly cool wind washed over them from the north.

“But when I was startin’ to shear one, I looked out at the plains, by those two rocks over there,” Kendo said, pointing to the spot he referred to. Jill followed his finger, seeing nothing there but the two rocks, large, brown, and nearly adjacent to each other, with a mere few feet of space between them.

Wait a minute. Jill almost stopped in mid-step when she spotted _it_ between the rocks, barely noticeable until she had looked closer. _It_ was a small mound of white fluff, with the unmistakable, slender black shape of a leg poking out.

“The hell is that?” Jill asked, cursing her own voice as it trembled.

Kendo suddenly broke out into a jog. “Come on,” he urged, and Jill was not slow to follow suit, catching up with him in a matter of seconds as they approached the rocks.

A few seconds of running later, and they had come upon the “mound of fluff,” which Jill now realized was a sheep. But it was so _small,_ it looked like a poor man’s taxidermy. Its tongue was sticking out, eyes wide open, but clearly dead, for there was no visible rise and fall of the animal’s stomach.

“What happened to it?” Jill asked, glancing at Kendo. He was looking down at it with a mournful expression; he loved every last one of his animals, and rarely killed a cow for meat. He somehow ate well despite that fact, with a significant gut to sport alongside his massive revolver.

“It got all the blood sucked out of it, poor thing,” Kendo explained, pointing to a spot on its neck. Jill leaned down next to the carcass, inspecting it closer. Now that she looked at the spot Kendo had indicated, she noticed that there were four little puncture marks just below its jaw. With a chill, she realized that _that_ was why it was so small: it had shriveled up like a damned raisin when it had been completely drained of blood.

“It got all the blood sucked out from that one spot?” Jill asked skeptically from her squatting position, prodding the wound gently with her finger. She was giving off the air of someone who knew what they were doing, but things were quickly slipping beyond her well-established comfort zone, the borders of which would now have to accommodate for shriveled up sheep carcasses. Wonderful start to this morning.

“No, there are more on its legs,” Kendo said. Jill flipped the animal over and held up each of its legs as she investigated them, seeing that indeed, there was one on each leg. 

“The hell?” Jill said again, muttering under her breath. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this before,” she admitted, standing up and meeting Kendo’s eye. “Think it was a snake?”

The man shook his head. “Nah, snake would’ve eaten it. Those things have huge jaws, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Jill said, thinking back to an unpleasant experience that had involved an unbelievably huge cobra and her rarely-utilized shotgun. Shivering at the memory, Jill chewed on her bottom lip. “But what else could it have been?”

“I dunno,” Kendo said, scratching the inside of his wrist. “But I don’t want it killin’ any more of my sheep. Barely got enough as it is.”

“‘Course not,” Jill agreed. “Tell ya what, I’ll ask around, see if anyone else has had this problem.”

Kendo’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thanks, Sheriff,” he said. “I know you’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Say hello to little Emma for me, will ya?” Jill said with a smile as she finally dusted herself off.

Kendo smiled too, for the first time that morning. “Oh, she’ll be delighted to hear,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. He always had that look when talking about his daughter. “Little one’s just learned to walk.”

“My, they grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Indeed they do, ma’am. Indeed they do.”

“All right,” Jill said, pushing the brim of her hat further down to protect from the sun that had risen higher in the sky in the time between Kendo’s arrival and their discovery. “If you see or hear anythin’ else, just come a-runnin’.”

“You got it.”

On the ride back to town, Jill took the few minutes to process all of the new information that had flooded her mind, along with the conclusions she kept drawing up and throwing out. 

  * It wasn’t a snake that had killed the sheep, but it had the telltale four puncture points in its bite. 
  * It came in the night.
  * It had sucked out _every last drop of blood_ that the little sheep had to offer.



Jill didn’t like this one bit. She was more used to dealing with humans and the problems that came with them, not animals, and especially not ruthless ones like the one that had attacked Kendo’s sheep. But when she had to buckle down, she would do so, no matter the circumstances. Even if the burden was great, she would do whatever she could to protect the people of Raccoon.

Soon enough, Jill arrived at the edge of the town’s main street, where the general store and the sheriff’s building stood on one side and the bank and inn-saloon (affectionately referred to as _The Lean-To_ by the locals) on the other. It was a small settlement, but most of the residents lived on the outskirts anyway, where there was arable land and a sense of privacy.

She directed Lightning to the porch of the sheriff’s department and dismounted, making quick work of the lead this time. When she gave him a quick stroke on the back of his neck, he whinnied, content. “I’ll get to feedin’ you soon,” Jill promised, turning toward the saloon and striding purposefully in its direction.

“Hey, Sheriff!” a man’s voice shouted. Jill stopped in her tracks, turning to search for the voice. Her eyes landed on a tall, muscular man, and she was ready to give him a swift kick where the sun don’t shine until she realized that the man was Barry Burton. He had a wife and two daughters at home, all three of whom he loved dearly.

The tension in Jill’s shoulders settled and she smiled as a greeting. “How goes it, Mr. Burton?”

“Bad news,” Burton said as he approached, walking fast on his way toward her, with a breathless quality to his voice. “One of my cows was slaughtered in the middle of the night. Got all the blood sucked out of him. Can you believe it?”

Jill’s smile fell and she froze. “Oh, no,” she said.

Burton stopped a few feet away, frowning in concern. The expression reminded her of her father. “Y’alright, kid?”

From any other man she would have slapped him in the face for referring to her as such, but from Barry, Jill supposed it was all right. “You ain’t the first one to tell me about somethin’ like this,” she said.

“What, someone else had somethin’ similar?”

“Kendo,” Jill explained. “One o’ his sheep was drawn out of its enclosure and got the same treatment as your cow.”

Burton sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “What d’you reckon, Jill?” he asked.

“I haven’t the foggiest, Barry.”

He nodded gravely. “You gonna spread the news?”

“Indeed. I’m headed to the saloon right now.”

“All right, then. You need something, just call for me.”

Jill smirked. Leave it to Barry Burton to tell her what she’d just told Kendo.

“See ya,” she said, tipping her hat and starting to walk toward the saloon again.

The Lean-To was where most of the town’s men hung out, whether good or bad, friendly or mean. Jill could handle the worst of the patrons just fine, though, no matter how many of the “good” ones rushed to her aid in a piss-poor attempt at chivalry. Before she was taken seriously as sheriff, she could expect someone in there to buy her a night’s worth of drinks and a few propositions to be made before she returned to her little apartment above the sheriff’s office — _alone,_ mind you. She hardly had the patience, let alone the heart, for romance. Her one true love was her job.

Which she couldn’t seem to get through the thick skulls of some of these assholes at the saloon. As she entered, the doors swinging back and forth behind her, the heads of everyone at the bar swiveled in her direction.

“Howdy, Sheriff,” greeted the barkeep, Mr. Vickers (he insisted that people call him Bradley). “What brings you here?”

Jill swept her gaze over the patrons that sat at the bar and at the various tables. “I have an announcement to make,” she said, loud enough so that she could be heard even from the back of the room.

“You finally on the market, Sheriff?” a man joked, causing the laughter of a few men seated near him.

“Make another remark like that and it’ll be your _head_ on the market, mister,” Jill retorted. Even as she looked away, she could see the man visibly gulp. She’d perfected the craft of making men mess their drawers a long time ago. Nobody seemed to take the hint, anyhow. “What I was gonna say is, a few fellers have come to me about somethin’ that happened last night. One of Kendo’s sheep and Mr. Burton’s cows were slaughtered.”

“Sounds pretty reg’lar to me,” someone said. A few nods and murmurs of agreement followed.

“They weren’t killed in the usual way, though,” Jill argued. “Got the blood sucked out of ‘em, lookin’ all deflated.”

“I’ll show you somethin’ that ain’t deflated,” said another man, with a grin on his face and deviance in his voice. It took every fibre of Jill’s being to not walk up to him and whip him with her revolver.

“Somethin’ _killed_ these livestock, fellas,” Jill said instead, with a note of desperation. “I’m tellin’ y’all to keep an eye out. Hell, maybe even both of ‘em.” 

She sighed. 

“There’s your fair warnin’, folks.” Jill placed her hand on her gun in its holster for good measure, to show she meant business. Nobody protested when they noticed that. “Come back tomorrow n’ see how _reg’lar_ it is.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the saloon, back to the sheriff’s department, where she threw the doors open in an expression of pent-up anger and flopped back into her chair, squeezing the bridge of her nose in agitation.

It would be a while before she once more felt as relaxed as she had earlier that morning, when she was in the same position: at her desk, but with a lazy smile on her face and a cozy sensation rooting her to the spot, instead of this dread that was beginning to creep in on her, teasing at the hairs on the back of her neck and whispering in her ear:

_Bad things are coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! As of right now, I have one more chapter completed after this one, but I do not plan on updating it on a schedule. No, no no no. I learned my lesson with "down for the count": Update whenever you damn well please. But don't worry, I do not plan on dipping from the fandom for... however long I abandoned that story.
> 
> Anyway. Leave kudos and/or a comment telling me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you might expect to see in the future, whatever you want. Engage with this fic in whatever way you see fit.
> 
> Until the next.


	2. the cowboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The horses were getting tired of the constant walking. Riding time got shorter and shorter, resting became longer and longer, and oftentimes their steeds would hardly move unless they got a hearty drink of water beforehand, which proved to be difficult to find. Carlos had gotten somewhat accustomed to the feeling in his mouth, the one reminiscent of a roll of gauze that he couldn’t dislodge from his tongue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings the arrival of one (1) Carlos Oliveira, as I'm sure you can presume from the summary.
> 
> Gosh, sometimes I have so many things that I want to put in the notes that I just forget stuff. So I'm gonna stuff all of the things that I wanted to share in Chapter 1, in here!
> 
> I finally bought my first two RE games. I've played through Jill's narrative in the Resident Evil Remaster, and just started getting into the remake of RE2. I'm having an absolute blast.
> 
> It kinda sucks that the buzz for this ship has died down, but I guess what can you expect. More people like Jill and Chris, or Leon and Ada, and Carlos never appears in any of the other numbered entries, so maybe people rightfully don't give him as much attention (even though he is so obviously deserving of it, I mean look at that man).
> 
> This chapter, much like the first, is 100% setup. I'm just trying to establish the universe around these characters and even though it is far from fun (I wanna get to the fun stuff!) it is quite necessary. So enjoy the introduction of best boy Carlos, I suppose :)
> 
> (Word count: 3519)

They had been traveling for days without seeing a single soul. The implications unnerved Carlos; they’d really done it now, huh? Mikhail had screwed ‘em over. Oh, God, what if they’d been traveling in circles?

Without a point of reference, though, Carlos had no idea. And he wasn’t the type to complain, so he kept his mouth shut, aside from the stray comment that would make Tyrell chuckle and Nicholai scoff in annoyance as they rode their horses at an agonizingly slow pace. 

That was another thing — the horses were getting tired of the constant walking. Riding time got shorter and shorter, resting became longer and longer, and oftentimes their steeds would hardly move unless they got a hearty drink of water beforehand, which proved to be difficult to find. Carlos had gotten somewhat accustomed to the feeling in his mouth, the one reminiscent of a roll of gauze that he couldn’t dislodge from his tongue. That didn’t mean it wasn’t unpleasant, of course. 

The group’s discomfort came to a head early one Wednesday morning, when Mikhail roused the three of them at the crack of dawn with a “Let’s go, children” and the banging of a wooden spoon to one of their pots. His affect was as optimistic (and annoying) as ever. It was hardly twilight, and the cold of the previous night had not completely faded from the air, making Carlos shiver as he awoke.

“You are going to drive me fucking _insane_ ,” slurred Nicholai, barely conscious, as he rolled across the ground while still encased in his blanket.

“For once, I agree with the Russian grouch,” Tyrell said, lifting himself up from his back onto his elbows and squinting at Mikhail. Tyrell was blind as a bat, hardly able to move a few feet without his thick glasses on, which Carlos noted were gripped tightly in his hand. 

“Well, as they say here in America…” Mikhail began, stroking his beard as he searched for the phrase, “Up and at them.” 

“Good Lord,” sighed Carlos as he rubbed the gunk out of his eyes. “When do you _sleep?”_

“I sleep when I die,” Mikhail said matter-of-factly, fastening the pot and spoon to the outside of the saddle bag on his horse.

“Let us hope that comes soon,” mumbled Nicholai as he brought himself to his feet, clad in only his undershirt and knickers. If Carlos had to describe Nicholai’s appearance in one word, he would choose “ghoulish.” The man was slender and tall, so incredibly tall, with ghostly white hair uncharacteristic of someone his age (which Carlos wasn’t completely certain of, but he was definitely younger than Mikhail) and eyes that held contempt for everyone and everything around him. That contempt was kept on the inside, though, only making an appearance in the little snide remarks he made, which the three of them had gotten used to.

Despite himself, Carlos chuckled at Nicholai’s aside as he squatted to find his shirt among the pile of his clothes that he had placed next to his pillow. He could never hate Mikhail, nor could he ever particularly like Nicholai, but sometimes the equilibrium was upset and they had moments like this one, where the line became more blurred.

“Well, it’s been God-knows-how-many days since I put my eye upon an outhouse,” Carlos said. “I almost miss the smell. At least it’s something familiar.”

“Shut the hell up,” Tyrell said, snickering as he stepped into his pants. “You always got the most nasty shit to say.”

“It’s what we’re all thinkin’,” Carlos reasoned as he picked up his own pants and did the same. Tyrell couldn’t find words for a response, instead shaking his head in amazement as a residual grin remained on his face.

“I predict we will find a town today,” announced Mikhail with a grandiose tone, still standing by his horse. “It is long due.”

“You say that every morning, old man, and yet we somehow end up in the same situation day after day,” Nicholai said sourly, finally wrangling his feet into his boots after getting dressed. He dressed well for a cowboy, let alone a Russian one, in a starched white shirt under a velvet red vest and black pants. He was by far the most particular about his appearance, while Mikhail, Tyrell, and Carlos weren’t too picky. They wore what they needed to wear: boots, holsters, and hats, and the other pieces of their outfit assembled themselves. In this part of the desert, though, they’d heard reports of devastating dust storms, so they wore thick coats and pants, trying to stick to tones of lighter brown to make the heat easier to handle.

“If I say it every day, then one day I will be right, hmm?” Mikhail said, completely unfazed, placing his hands on his horse’s back in preparation to mount it. “Come now. We ride.”

Carlos, Tyrell, and Nicholai followed suit, gently digging their heels into their horse’s sides as an encouragement to move. With a few uninspired whinnies, the steeds began to trot.

The sun continued to rise as they rode, and the heat came with it. Sweat slowly made its way from Carlos’s hairline to his brow, to his eyelashes, to the point where he had to wipe at his eye before the salty drop fell into it and blinded him.

He felt himself regressing into that familiar headspace, where his focus on the outside world was nothing more than passive and he lost himself in his head, thinking of everything and nothing, reacting only to his sweat and the occasional wind that blew over the plains, adjusting his thick fringe of hair every now and then.

At one point, as they were exiting a small ravine, Carlos swept his gaze over the expanse of land they were entering into, and his eye caught on something that he hadn’t seen the likes of in weeks: a house. The house itself was small, and the pastures beyond it were nothing impressive, either, but it was a _house._ Carlos could weep.

“Hey!” he immediately shouted, pointing in the house’s direction. Mikhail, who had been riding ahead of him, snapped his head to the side.

“What did I say, boys?” the bearded man said cheekily. “Sometimes I am right.”

“So, how are we going to go about this?” asked Nicholai. None thought to look at him until they heard the spinning of a cylinder. Carlos turned toward him and saw that he held his revolver in his hand, the metal cylinder hanging out and displaying a full six rounds.

“Put that thing away!” hissed Tyrell. “We ain’t robbin’ the place, just asking for directions. You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“What?” Nicholai asked with his trademark sneer. “It was not an unfair assumption.”

At that, Carlos and Tyrell instinctively looked to Mikhail for his reaction. He seemed displeased, if the way his lip curled and his brows furrowed was any indication. “Tyrell is right,” Mikhail said. “We will not cause trouble, not when we are clearly close to a town where whoever lives in this house could report us to the sheriff.”

Nicholai huffed, snapping the cylinder of his revolver back into place and stuffing the gun into his holster.

“Now, let’s go," Mikhail said. "I will knock on door, you three wait on your horses. Are we clear?”

“Yezzir,” from Carlos.

“Yup,” from Tyrell.

“Fine,” from Nicholai.

They spurred their horses gently into a trot once more, heading in the direction of the house.

When they were in front of the porch, Mikhail dismounted and walked slowly up the porch stairs. Carlos waited atop his horse with the other two, watching Mikhail closely with his hand hovering over his holster in case of trouble. It was a gamble, knocking on someone’s door like this. There were two ways this could go: a gun in your face or a hospitable greeting. More often than not, though, the former happened. People were distrustful here, what with all of the stories of outlaws riding around and taking what wasn’t theirs. Carlos didn’t blame them, but it made traveling harder, when everyone always kept their eye on you and you could hardly get someone to tell you the time of day.

Mikhail had made it up the steps, and to the door. Raising his hand and making a fist, he took a deep breath before purposefully rapping his knuckles against the door one, two, three times.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Not even a breeze blew in. All Carlos could hear was his own breathing, slow and relaxed.

Then, there was the sound of floorboards creaking, slowly getting closer and closer to the door, until they heard the knob twisting.

The door flew open and before they knew it, Mikhail was face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle.

“Whoa!” shouted Carlos, whipping out his revolver and pointing it at the man with the gun. Nicholai and Tyrell did the same, muttering surprised curses.

Nobody moved for an agonizingly long moment, staring at each other and daring someone to make the first move.

No longer jarred, Carlos took in the man’s appearance. He was a balding man of a stocky build, with watery blue eyes that looked too friendly to be obstructed by the frown he wore atop his yellow plaid shirt and blue jeans. The rifle remained steady in his grip as he stared down the sight at Mikhail.

“State yer business, pardner,” said the rifle-toting man.

“I do not mean to cause trouble, friend,” said Mikhail, slowly raising his hands up on either side of his head and splaying out his palms to show that he held no weapon. “My men and I were simply passing through. We were wondering if you knew where closest town is.”

The man stared at him for a good moment, as if wondering whether to blow his brains out or slam the door in his face. Carlos’s grip on his revolver tightened slightly in anticipation, shaking infinitesimally with the strain.

To his surprise, the man did neither. Instead, he lowered the rifle slightly, to about the level of Mikhail’s heart, revealing his tightly-held jaw as he spoke. “Town o’ Raccoon’s ‘bout a mile east.”

“Raccoon,” Mikhail repeated, trying the word out on his own tongue. “Thank you, sir. We will be on our way.”

With that, the man let go of the rifle with his left hand to reach for the door handle and wrench it closed, slamming loudly against the doorframe.

It was like a dam burst. Mikhail’s shoulders sagged and his arms flopped back down to his sides, and Carlos nearly dropped his revolver with the release of pressure. 

“ _Blyat,_ ” Mikhail whispered, lifting his hat a few inches from his head to run a hand raggedly through his hair.

Carlos laughed breathlessly. He knew what that meant.

“Thought for sure your brains were gonna be spaghetti,” said Tyrell, holstering his revolver.

“For a moment, I had the same thought,” Mikhail replied, dusting himself off. “But thankfully, it did not come to that. Now, he said that there is a town a mile east from here.” He jogged down the porch steps and made quick work of mounting his horse. “Off we go.”

Shaking his head in residual amazement, Carlos spurred his horse as the other three did, heading east.

Carlos’s excitement built with each step his horse took, having to keep from breaking into a gallop as they got closer to Raccoon. All of the prospects that awaited him were enough to make his heart rate skyrocket. A bed. A bath. A beer. The three B’s, as Carlos liked to call them, all staples of a good stay in any township.

“First thing I’m doin’ when we get there is buyin’ a cold drink,” Tyrell said as they trotted along.

“Amen, brother,” Carlos responded. “A nice beer’ll do the trick.”

“I wonder if they have vodka in America,” commented Nicholai.

“Vodka?” Tyrell said. “The hell is that?”

“Liquid death, my friend. Liquid death,” Nicholai replied, an uncharacteristic smile gracing his face. “I miss it dearly.”

“Boys,” barked Mikhail. “Look.”

Carlos brought his gaze forward and his jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the short wooden buildings that stood about a thousand feet away, separated across a muddy main street. It was ugly and underwhelming, but Carlos would have taken a row of shacks if it meant he could sleep on a mattress for once.

“Civilization,” Mikhail said dramatically.

Nicholai snorted. “What a shithole.”

“I will gladly take shithole over rifle in my face.” Mikhail chuckled at his own joke.

They traveled the last few hundred feet in complete silence, preparing themselves for what awaited them. Slowly, but surely, people on the porches and in the street started to take note of them, whispering to each other and pointing. It was hardly subtle.

By the time they had reached the foot of the main street, everyone had their eye on the four of them. Sweeping his gaze over the people who stood on the ground in front of them, Mikhail held up a fist. “Hold.”

Carlos, Tyrell, and Nicholai pulled on their reins at the same time, bringing their horses to a stop. It seemed that everyone was intent on staring at them until the end of time, unmoving and completely silent.

The sound of doors swinging open jarred Carlos from the short quiet.

Jill shoved her way through the doors of the sheriff’s building, still adjusting her hat and holster as she descended the steps to the main street. There were four new arrivals, seated on horses that simply stood there, hardly moving a muscle. Jill was too far to get a clear read on what the newcomers looked like, as they were surrounded by the people who had been milling around on the street just moments before.

 _Shit,_ she thought. This was just what she needed. New people, in the middle of this mess. Misters Redfield and Kennedy had come to her first thing that morning and reported that some of _their_ animals had been culled in the same manner as Kendo’s sheep: drained of all blood. She had spent most of the day ruminating on these new discoveries, wondering what could be done and yet again coming up with nothing.

“‘Scuse me,” Jill said when she had reached the audience that they had accumulated. She shouldered her way between two men who parted easily, as if she was a knife through butter.

Finally, she was there in front of them, peering up into the eyes of the man at the front of their small group. He had a full white beard and scars on his nose and above his left eyebrow. His clothes were caked in dust. Jill took a moment to appraise the other men. There was one who was tall, pale, and skinny, with a bit of an unsettling resting expression that looked like a smirk. The second was large around the shoulders, with wide arms and an even wider chest. His beard was jet black and stubbly. He looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. The third was a black man, and he was shorter, with a build between his skinnier and wider friends. A pair of thick prescription eyeglasses sat atop his nose, giving his eyes a bit of a magnified effect. All of their clothes were in a similar state to those of the man with the white beard, drably colored and extremely dusty. 

As Jill returned her focus to him, he dismounted, leveraging his hands on his horse’s back. He turned to her with a smile.

“Who in the Sam Hill are you folks?” Jill asked, making him start a little bit. Then he frowned.

“Who is ‘Sam Hill?’”

Jill chuckled. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“You could say that.” The bearded man smiled. “My name is Mikhail Victor, and these are my men.” He gestured to the three men on horseback with an open palm. She looked up at them at that. The big and broad one gave a small wave, while the other two gave short nods of acknowledgement.

Jill hmphed. “You ain’t here to cause trouble, are you?” she asked. “‘Cause I know how to handle trouble.”

Her right hand rose to her hip to trace the grip of her revolver, slow and deliberate, drawing Mikhail’s attention. He seemed in no way flustered, though; instead, he chuckled a little bit.

“I believe you,” he said as he brought his gaze back up to her face from her hip. “But to answer your question, no. We are simply passing through. Perhaps we shall stay in the inn for a night, if you would allow it.”

Jill searched for bad intentions in his gaze, but all she saw was mirth. _It’s only because they’re new,_ she told herself. _They’ll be gone by tomorrow._

“I don’t see why not,” she finally said, pointing to the Lean-To. “Should be enough rooms for you and your men.”

Mikhail smiled again. “Why, thank you, Miss…”

“Sheriff,” she was quick to say. “You and your men will call me Sheriff.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Mah pleasure. Now, why don’t y’all get settled in.”

Mikhail nodded, turning back to his men. “Let’s go.”

Jill could only assume what those men got up to that night, as she decided to spend it in her apartment. She tried to focus on the book in her lap and the bottle of red eye at her side, but at some point she had to mark her place and put the volume down on the floor beside her feet. Thoughts were swimming around her head nonstop, premonitions and fears and guilt and everything else that made her feel somewhat awful for not knowing what to do with this terrible situation that had befallen Raccoon County. It was still a complete mystery to her, and she knew that some form of action had to be taken. But what?

Jill took a long pull from the bottle of whiskey, accepting the burn of it sliding down her throat as a welcome distraction from these thoughts. Instead, her mind traveled to the men who had arrived on horseback just hours before, all allowing Mikhail to take point as they sat there on their horses, somehow looking menacing and utterly exhausted at the same time. She could only imagine how long they’d been out in the open country.

Without thinking, Jill set the bottle of whiskey down on the small table net to her armchair, traveled to the window that looked out over Main Street, and directed her gaze toward the Lean-To.

With a start, she noted that the rightmost window revealed a soft orange light. Whoever was occupying the room had lit one of the kerosene lamps. Jill squinted to get a better look, searching for the occupant.

She noticed a form seated on the bed, his back to her. His hair was long, black, and messy…

It was Big and Broad. His head was ducked, hands braced against the edge of the mattress as he looked down at his feet. He was dressed in his sleep clothes: a sleeveless shirt — _Golly,_ those were some arms — and knickers. He lifted his left hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and the muscles in his back that Jill was just now noticing rippled enticingly to accommodate for his moving shoulder.

She didn’t even consider the prospect of getting caught looking until that very thing happened. His head suddenly turned in her direction, the warm light from the lamp dancing in his eyes as he looked at her.

Jill was frozen. Her mouth fell slightly open, and she tried to remove herself from the window, but she was rooted to the spot. She had never looked so openly upon a man before, not since her momentary infatuation with Mr. Redfield. But instead of the knowing grin that Christopher had kept for her, this man raised his eyebrow in the same fashion he had when they had first glanced at each other. It was coy, and downright teasing, considering the fact that he flexed his bicep a little as they continued to stare at each other.

Finally, _finally,_ Jill found it within herself to step away from the window and turn her back on him. She quickly moved across the room to her own bed and realized as she sat down that she was out of breath, and her face felt hot. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that Jill could not decide whether it was welcome or not. 

She decided to stick to the facts, as she always did. She had just admired that man’s physique, without any regard to how he might perceive her now that she had been caught. She was embarrassed as all get-out. She wondered how she could maintain her cool if she ran into him the following day.

 _That’s tomorrow's problem,_ Jill tried to convince herself as she lay down on the bed.

But sleep did not come easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed this! I'm going to be honest, at some points I believe that this drags significantly. I certainly don't mean to make it that way, and I'm not even sure if you readers may agree with me, but I think I'm ready to write the more dramatic parts of this story rather than the introductory stuff. I don't intend to rush this, though, considering the fact that this is an AU that will require much more attention to detail than my other AU fic for these two did. I'll be taking my time both in updating this and in progressing the story (at least, that's me talking at the near-beginning of this writing process, let's see how this ends up after a few chapters).
> 
> If you liked this, please leave a comment or kudos! If you didn't, please tell me what you didn't like! As long as you're friendly about it :) I gladly accept constructive criticism, considering the fact that I don't deny the possibility of typos or some sections that seem below-par in quality.
> 
> Gosh, I'm rambly today, aren't I. Anyway. Thank you for reading. Until the next.
> 
> PS: ya boy got a twitter! the @ is the same as the name of this account, lostnfound14. follow if you want, i'll just post whatever on there, but it's mostly gonna be for my AO3 page.


	3. a reason to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All right, listen up, folks!” the sheriff shouted. Her voice boomed, taking precedence over every other surrounding sound: the breeze, Carlos’s low breathing.
> 
> “Y’all have heard the stories,” she continued. “I know for a fact y’all have heard people talking about it.”
> 
> Carlos felt a sudden pull toward her; he shouldered his way between Mikhail and Tyrell, who stepped aside without much protest, as they themselves were fixated on the sheriff’s words. _What the hell could she be talkin’ about?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo! been a little while. a lot of things got in the way -- namely a fuckton of homework. but i churned this chapter out eventually. it's a bit of an inbetween one. i don't have too much to say about it, other than that i hope you enjoy! read on.
> 
> (word count: 3796)

Carlos awoke slowly, a welcome change to the aggressive manner with which Mikhail woke him up. All that lifted his head from the pillow was the screech of a distant rooster, followed by the sound of creaking floorboards out in the hallway.

Before he had met Mikhail, Carlos had been a heavy sleeper; you could hardly hope to wake him with a crisp slap to the face. But after months of traveling with the man, Carlos had become conditioned to waking with the sun, his grumbling as he went through the motions of his morning routine slowly softening from angry to nothing more than habitual.

He gripped the edge of the blanket that warmed him, and threw it off to the side, exposing his body to the early morning air that seeped through the window. A shiver ran through his body, which helped him wake up even further, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing.

He came face to face with the window. His mind conjured up a recollection of last night: feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he began settling into bed, and instinctively turning his head to search for the source of this feeling, catching the eye of the sheriff across the way, who had simply been… standing there, looking at him.

He had only caught a glimpse of the woman’s entire face when she lifted her head to look at him earlier that day. Her eyes were a vibrant blue, like that of a cloudless sky, holding a piercing gaze that Carlos couldn’t even say “Howdy” to.

So, now, to be admired so unabashedly by the woman who had hardly spared him a look earlier was something that had frozen Carlos. But, of course, he had the presence of mind to preen a little bit, still holding her gaze as he looked at her over his forearm and flexed his bicep.

Carlos smiled at the memory now, turning away from the window. It was too bad that Mikhail would probably want to leave first thing. Carlos would have liked to say hello to the sheriff, at least once. Maybe even wink at her as he rode off into the country.

A knock sounded on his door. Carlos, still in his sleep-clothes, nearly jumped out of his skin. Thankfully, whoever it was on the other side felt no need to intrude, leaving it closed and simply deciding to speak through the door.

“We leave after breakfast.”

Nicholai.

“Got it,” Carlos called. He started picking up his clothes from the floor; thankfully, he had gotten an opportunity to wash them before he went to bed. Now, they were clean, though his coat’s natural color was not too far-removed from that of the dust that had covered it the day before. His black pants were no longer stiff and uncomfortable, allowing a great range of motion as he shoved his legs into them.

Minutes later, Carlos was adjusting the sleeves of his coat as he descended the stairs to the bar, where Brad, the innkeeper and bartender, was serving breakfast.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” called Mikhail as Carlos finally reached the bottom of the steps. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Oh, shut up,” Carlos replied, grinning. “You’d never leave me behind. I’m too valuable.”

“You are right,” Nicholai said. “We could chop you up for meat if we ran out of food.”

“He’s got the right idea.”

Carlos took a seat at the table around which his three buddies sat, noshing on the eggs and jerky that Brad had cooked. He took a moment to adjust before picking up his fork, though, during which Mikhail looked up at him from his plate.

“We will go north today,” he said, setting his fork down. “If there is nothing for us there, then east.”

Carlos shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

“Do not sound so excited, Carlos,” Mikhail said, a grin on his face. “I couldn’t have imagined you in such a rush to leave.”

“I see you’re picking up on sarcasm.”

“Mr. Vickers is a very witty man.”

Carlos smiled. Mikhail was learning more and more about the subtleties of English every day, whether it was the use of the same word in different contexts, or puns, or, well, sarcasm. In truth, they were all learning something: Mikhail was learning English, Nicholai was learning how not to be a total creep, Tyrell was learning how to become a bit more confident, and Carlos…

“I don’t know,” Carlos said with a sigh. “I guess it would just be nice to take a breather for once. You know?”

Mikhail regarded him with a curious gaze. Carlos decided that now was as good a time as any to start eating, picking up his fork and spearing his eggs with it.

“I will consider it,” Mikhail finally said. Carlos didn’t meet his eye, focused on his food now; he picked up a bit of his eggs and shoveled them into his mouth. They were heavily seasoned, which Carlos had to respect Mr. Vickers for. The taste was reminiscent of back home in a distant way, bringing distant memories of rambunctious breakfasts around a table far too small for such a huge family as the one that lived in the Oliveira household. Carlos smiled.

“I appreciate that,” he told Mikhail.

After that, they all left each other to their respective meals. The other three finished before Carlos, but politely waited for him to clear his plate before standing up and pushing their chairs back under the table.

“Thank you for a delicious breakfast, Mr. Vickers,” Mikhail shouted across the room to the man, who was idling behind the bar. At the sound of his own name, he looked up and threw them a salute.

“Safe travels, folks.”

Carlos nodded to him, and as a group, the four cowboys headed for the doors of the saloon. Nicholai was the first one to reach them, pushing through and exiting into the infernally hot morning. Carlos squinted at the sky as he stepped outside. It had no right to be so damn hot, not in this season, but nature had its own odd and undefined way of operating, just as humans did.

“This was a nice stay,” Nicholai said.

Three heads turned to look at him, all with frowns on their faces.

“Because I finally got some fucking sleep,” the younger Russian was quick to amend. “Refreshing, if I do say so myself.”

Before Carlos had the opportunity to snark, though, the sound of hooves beating against the ground struck the quiet that blanketed the main street, from somewhere to his left. The four men turned in the direction of the sound, surprised.

Atop the approaching horse was a short and fat man, red-faced and breathing heavily as the animal galloped. How you could get bent so far out of sorts when you weren’t even the one doing the work baffled Carlos, but the man looked distraught, so he decided that he had some leeway.

The man hardly even halted his horse before he hopped off of its back, stumbling a little bit as he landed, and running for the sheriff’s building.

“Sheriff!” he shouted. “Sheriff!”

He bounded up the steps to the door and rushed inside.

The man had not only caught the interest of Carlos and his compatriots, but just about everyone else in the area. A bewildered mood had settled in the air around them, as they all looked at the door through which he had disappeared.

It took only seconds for the doors to be thrown open again, and this time the lady sheriff came through, with the man from before hot on her heels. She strode into the center of the street and turned, digging her boots into the ground.

“All right, listen up, folks!” the sheriff shouted. Her voice boomed, taking precedence over every other surrounding sound: the breeze, Carlos’s low breathing. 

“Y’all have heard the stories,” she continued. “I know for a fact y’all have heard people talking about it.”

Carlos felt a sudden pull toward her; he shouldered his way between Mikhail and Tyrell, who stepped aside without much protest, as they themselves were fixated on the sheriff’s words.  _ What the hell could she be talkin’ about? _

“Somethin’s killin’ your animals. I’ve had to hear y’all tell me all about your sheep, and your cows, and your pigs. And some folks still don’t believe what everyone else is sayin’. They say it’s a  _ load o’ hooey. _ ” At that, she turned her head to look at someone, and Carlos followed her gaze; he saw a man with almost as many chins as he had limbs swallow nervously.

“Well, I’m tellin’ you here and now, it’s not. It’s a real problem that we gotta  _ do something about. _ ”

Carlos looked at the lady sheriff as she eyed each denizen of Raccoon County. Her gaze eventually swept over him, and she paused, clearly caught off-guard by his presence, but only for a moment. When she was done, she crossed her arms over her chest, in a telltale expression of agitation with the silence that greeted her. It was only a few steps away from her stomping her foot like a small child.

“Nobody got anythin’ to say, huh? So I’m takin’ that as y’all want this to keep happenin’?”

Carlos pondered what he could say and do for a single moment, before he made up his mind and began walking toward the sheriff with a purposeful step. As he approached, she looked at him again, and frowned. Almost as if she was displeased that  _ he  _ was the one to step forward.

He continued walking toward her until he was only a few feet away. He could feel the eyes of everyone on his back, his profile, his everywhere, most of all  _ hers _ , as they searched his own eyes and face.

“What manner o’ dyin’ did these animals experience?” he asked, placing his arms akimbo against his hips.

She stared at him for a tense moment, working her jaw, before she set it and spoke. “Their blood was sucked out. Every last drop.”

Carlos froze, his mind suddenly racing. The words of an old folktale tugged at the outer reaches of his mind. Some kind of beast… the only reports of it were anecdotal, of course, and as far as he had known beforehand, it was nothing more than that, a folktale. However, it was the only explanation, and it seemed almost too well-fitting to not be the answer.

“ _ La chupacabra, _ ” he breathed.

She huffed, and it almost sounded like a laugh. “The  _ what? _ ”

“ _ La chupacabra, _ ” Carlos repeated. “A South American folktale.”

This time, the sheriff snorted. “You believe in fairy tales, sir?”

His response was simple. “I didn’t.”

The grin that had slowly begun to form on her face halted, and her expression sobered once again.

“Tell me more.”

It was not a pleasant affair, stuffing everyone into the sheriff’s office to gather for an informal town meeting, but it was one that Jill pushed for, with her steely gaze and quick reproaches for anyone who bothered to turn even a degree in the opposite direction of her door. She told Big and Broad to stand by her desk, in front of everyone, as she ushered every last person in, even his three friends, who seemed more reluctant than anyone else to enter. When she joined him again at the front of the room, he had begun to shift his weight between his feet, clearly somewhat unnerved by all of the attention.

“So…” she said. “Didn’t think to ask your name earlier.”

At that, he lifted his head to look at her, and his soft brown eyes did that…  _ thing  _ again where they were soft and unassuming but made her heart rate spike all the same.

“Name’s Carlos,” he said.

“Carlos,” she repeated, testing it out on her tongue. It fit him nicely. “Okay, Carlos, why don’t you tell these people what the…” what was it called again? “Chu… chubacapra, is?”

“ _ Chupacabra, _ ” he corrected.

“Right.”

Carlos turned to the mass of people that stood before them, nerves forgotten. “The  _ chupacabra _ is a South American folktale—”

“You mean to tell me you got us all packed in this damn office like sardines to listen to a got-damned  _ fairy tale? _ ” interrupted someone in the midst of the crowd, voice shrill and a surprising contrast to Carlos’s calming baritone.

Carlos did not bother to rebuke him, instead turning to look at Jill, as if to say,  _ He’s all yours. _

Jill sighed. “Pipe down and let him finish.”

Carlos nodded, continuing. “The  _ chupacabra  _ is a dog-like beast. According to the stories, it has scales on its back and gigantic teeth. It only hunts at night. And it kills all of its victims by sucking out all of their blood.”

Jill knew, the instant he finished, that this was the culprit. This was what she had been wondering about.

“What kinda drinks they got down in South America?” asked another man.

“Good ones,” Carlos said. “Like I said, it’s just a folktale. But it sounded almost too good to be true.”

“Exactly,” the man said. “This is all, if you’ll pardon my French, a pile of bullshit. Now, I got animals to take care of.”

He began to turn around, but before he could so much as take a step in the direction of the door, Jill said, “Don’t you dare even  _ think  _ about leavin’, mister.”

“Or what?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. 

There was brash confidence in his expression, but Jill knew the men of this town like the back of her own hand. They all talked a big game, but when it came down to the wire, most of ‘em were a bunch of pansies. So she toned up the glare a little bit and said, “Or I’ll make you stay.”

The cold ice in his eyes thawed almost immediately and he turned back toward her and Carlos, setting his feet.

“Well, I’ve said my piece,” Carlos said. “You take it from here…” and in his gaze was curiosity, “Sheriff.”

“Right,” Jill said again. “Well, I propose we take care of this little vermin problem.”

“You really gonna take the word of a… foreigner as the truth?” cut in yet another man in the crowd.

“I’d mind my tongue if I were you, friend,” Carlos said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jill sighed. This was not going well. “Everybody, calm the hell down. Remember why we’re here. We all want this problem solved, right? So let’s move this along. Now, as I was sayin’, we need to get this taken care of.”

“How do you propose we do that?” asked the tall and pale one. Jill hadn’t been expecting him to speak, but as she looked at him she noticed an odd glint in his eye.

“That’s something we can all come to a consensus on, I think,” she said.

“Shall there be a bounty for whoever kills the beast?” Tall and Pale said.

“I don’t want this to be about money, mister.”

“Then you may count me out.”

A few laughs rose up amongst the members of the crowd, even as the shorter man next to Tall and Pale smacked him roughly on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. His smirk faltered, and his bravado was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Jill raised her voice to be heard over the chuckles. “I need everyone to put their heads together, all right?” She tried not to sound too much like she was begging. “This needs to be a team effort.”

“I’m goin’ home,” said the man from before, who had complained about the crampedness of the sheriff’s office.

“Me too,” said the man who had called Carlos a “foreigner.”

After that, a grand majority of the men in the room were murmuring their assent, and heading for the door.

“Wait!” cried Jill, trying to draw their attention, but chatter had already picked up among them and they were all leaving in a horde for the door. It was no use. “Shit.”

When the throng was gone, only a few people were left. Carlos, Mikhail, the quiet black man, Tall and Pale (though he seemed to be kept there by nothing more than an iron grip on his shoulder from Mikhail), Leon, Chris, herself, and Barry.

The latter spoke up, crossing his huge arms over his chest. “I ain’t leavin’, no worries.”

“Thanks, Barry,” Jill said, though her tone betrayed her disappointment, the words coming out as more of a sigh. She massaged the bridge of her nose, trying to temper her annoyance. These men were pansies. She had just reminded herself of it a few moments before and so quickly forgotten it.

“If we’re gonna kill this thing, we need a plan,” Chris said.

Jill dropped her hand back to her side and channeled her focus. “Yeah. Let’s figure this out, then, boys. Huh?”

From her right, she felt Carlos’s eyes on her, and when she tried to peek at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw intrigue in his expression. Whether it was casual or a whole ‘nother kind, she couldn’t tell. And she certainly wasn’t keen on finding out just yet.

“All right,” Jill said, shaking her head to rid her mind of these thoughts. “So, let’s start this off…”

Thankfully, with the eight of them working together to come up with a plan, it didn’t take too long to do so. In a sense, Jill was glad that she hadn’t been forced to call on members of the crowd like they were a bunch of schoolboys. It gave everyone room to breathe, as well as silence to help them think. Mikhail proved himself to be very strategically-minded, asking about the layout of the surrounding area and its terrain. The black man (who finally introduced himself as Tyrell) didn’t speak much other than to agree with people’s suggestions. Tall and Pale (Nicholai) remained in the background, simply flicking his gaze between everyone as they spoke. Jill could see the gears turning in his mind, though. Something about him seemed off, but he had done nothing too unusual yet, so Jill tempered that conjectural train of thought. And Carlos seemed happy to agree with everyone as well, so Jill didn’t have much reason to focus on him, but she did anyway. At some point, he removed his hat, without flourish. Out came the mess of hair that she had caught a peek of last night, and every time he moved his head, even subtly, it caught up a fraction of a second later, often ending up covering one side of his jaw. 

Her mind wandered every time she looked in his direction, down paths that she was not quite happy with. So she would simply look away, toward Leon or Chris, or anyone else, so that she would not get so distracted.

But now, they were done, and the four newcomers had left her office, saying that they could be found in the saloon if they were needed. This left Jill with Chris, Leon, and Barry.

“Jill,” said Chris.

Jill looked up from the surface of her desk, upon which her hands were splayed. “Yeah?”

“I can hear your mind racing.”

Jill chuckled. “Just wonderin’ if I really am crazy, I guess.”

The words of the men had gotten to her, just a little bit. Enough to annoy, like the bite of a skeeter, the itch lasting for longer than you would like it to but persisting regardless.

“Ignore those pansies. You’ve handled crazy shit before.”

At this, Jill frowned. “I ain’t never handled something that might not even exist.”

Chris shrugged. “That Carlos feller seemed pretty convinced. So did you.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Jill sighed. “I just can’t help but think that I’m crossin’ the line between ‘cautious’ and ‘off my rocker.’”

“Well, we’ll find out tonight, won’t we?” Barry cut in, a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry yourself into an early grave.”   
“Easy for you to say, Barry,” Jill said, though her frown was gone, now replaced by a small smile.

“I trust you, Jill,” said Leon. “Either you’re right, or we’re in better shape than we thought.”

Jill turned to the younger man and shot him a grateful look. “Thanks, Leon. I appreciate that.”

Momentary silence claimed the air, under which the four occupants of the room lost themselves in their thoughts. Jill knew, almost intrinsically, that they were all considering the possibility of Carlos being right, that Raccoon County was under attack by a mythical creature. It sounded like a bad dream. Hell, it sounded like the setup for a bad joke. All Jill knew for sure was that it was bad.

“Well, I’d better get ready for tonight,” Barry said, pulling at the edge of his vest. “Gotta tell the kids Daddy won’t be home for dinner.”

Jill felt a pang of guilt. “You ain’t gotta do this, Barry,” she assured. “You can back out at any time.”

Barry scoffed. “An’ miss out on an adventure? You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, Sheriff.”

Jill’s lips pulled into a smile before she knew it. “All right, ya big lunk. G’wan. Say hey to your daughters for me.”

“You got it, Jill.”

He crossed the room to the door and left.

“I’ll meet you here tonight,” Chris said, tipping his hat and following in Barry’s footsteps a few seconds later. 

Only Leon remained now, and he hovered for a few seconds, jaw working as he considered what to say. The young man had a grave air about him, as if he had some sense of responsibility characteristic of a man far beyond his years. Jill didn’t know what exactly was the catalyst for this odd demeanor, but she didn’t worry too much about it. If she was being honest, she appreciated his ability to take things seriously. It was familiar, and grounding. 

“I’ll be there,” he finally said, an intense look in his eye.

Jill nodded, watching as Leon left her office at last. When the sound of his spurs clacking against the wood of the porch faded, she exhaled what felt like all of the air in her lungs, like a deflating balloon.

She didn’t know what was to come tonight, but a feeling of uncertainty, like a heavy, cumbersome stone, had already settled in her stomach, and she knew that its pressure would only be lifted when she got her answer.

Until then, though, she would have to be content with stewing in her office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoyed this update! so far it's been mostly setup, but i think that after this, i can finally start picking up the action (aka the fun part). my hope is that by at least thanksgiving break i will have a new chapter out :( i know it's not an optimistic estimate but it's the most realistic, if you ask me. i wish school wasn't so crazy, but what can you do, right? thank you all for your patience and support so far! it means a lot.
> 
> (p.s. once again, i'm plugging my twitter. no pressure to follow, of course, but it's a more accessible form of communication if you want to tweet at me for whatever reason! my handle is @lostnfound14, just like my AO3 username. check me out. or don't. your choice.)
> 
> (p.p.s. purposefully not thinking about the election lmao)


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